


The Little Black Book

by occasional_boy_reporter



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, Gen, Humor, Mild Language, Morbid Humor, Mundane Grimoire, Not Strictly Linear, Slice of Life, Unofficial Grimoire
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-27
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2018-08-18 06:08:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8151743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/occasional_boy_reporter/pseuds/occasional_boy_reporter
Summary: The best/worst-kept secret in the Tower is the hidden, quite unofficial, grimoire written for and by those who serve the Light.





	1. Chapter 1

 

   Hidden in one of the Tower’s many rooms is an ammo box. The metal is dented and covered in the grime of ages. Between the useless, twisted lock and the creaking hinges rests a single item. It’s not a data scroll or a digital device but an honest to goodness paper and leather volume. And between these nondescript covers are the memories, both fantastical and mundane, of countless Guardians privileged to know of the existence of the room and the box and the little, black book.

 

 


	2. The Net

 

   I remember when they tried to put up a net at the base of the Tower. Not meant to save anyone, obviously, but someone somewhere thought it might help keep things neater. Huge thing of spun, metal cable that City people whined was ugly even as engineers were bolting it in place. Not near as ugly as the sight of a Guardian gone splat on the pavement though. You ever seen that? In person I mean. From the ground floor?

   Yeah, you’ve seen it from the top.  It’s kind of a right of passage. Tell your buddy to lean over the rail at the top of the Tower. Ask them if they can make out a particular place or if they see the birdy nest on a window ledge below.

   _Down. Straight down. Yeah, there! Don’t you see it?_

   And you just kinda nudge em over the bar.

   Never gets old.

   But that’s at the top. You lose sight of the body about halfway down and, in a minute or two, your buddy pops right back into existence with the help of his Ghost. From the bottom…you don’t ever want to be at the bottom.

   But, yeah, the net. Totally worthless.

   Know a guy who does cleanup. Poor bastard. Said the net actually made things worse. Sometimes the net would slice clean through a Guardian. Sometimes the armor was really good and it'd hold but the body would get tangled and he’d have to go poke it down.

   Net’s gone now, obviously. Got that nice little Guardian only garden at the base instead. Couple trees. Some benches. High, solid walls around it to protect City people from the sight of an immortal jackass gone splat. Works way better than the net.

 

 


	3. Ghost

   My Ghost claims she doesn’t sleep. She insists that Ghosts can simply go on forever and ever, never pausing, never resting as long as there is Light and a purpose. After all, she practiced while she searched for me.

   But now I’m found.

   Whether she can or cannot truly sleep and whether she physically needs to rest or not are all points still up for discovery. What I do know is that every night my head rests on a pillow in the safety of the Tower, she is there to nestle beside me. Her central light dims, not enough to cause concern but enough to help ease me to sleep. And, try as I might, I can never manage to stay awake long enough to see if her light dims further in rest or if she simply watches over me through each and every moment of this new life.

 

 


	4. Normal

 

   I think about it all the time.

   I was in line behind this guy in full Warlock gear. Helmet on, gloves, padded boots, the long coat (Robe? Whatever they call them. Warlocks are always so damn picky about words.)

   …where was I?

   Oh yeah. I was in line at a City gunsmith behind this guy in full Warlock gear. I’d say he was pretty intimidating, and the way he carried himself (so self-confidant it was disgusting) you could tell he was used to having people either in awe or fear of him. And from what I could tell, based the quality of his gear and the press of his Light, people probably had every bit of sense to think one way or the other. Just so you know the kinda guy this Warlock was.

   Anyway, so the Warlock reached out the same moment the gunsmith held out the guy’s new gun and the Warlock dropped it!

   Just slipped right through his fingers with the barest hint of a fumble at the end!

   I wanted to laugh. I mean it was hilarious in that stupid way but I also didn’t want to die a very public death at the hands of this guy. So I stood there with my eyes bugging out of my head and biting my own tongue and the Warlock turned. He looked right at me. I could feel his eyes through both our helmets and he twitched. I flinched thinking he’d read my mind and was gonna reduce me to dust but the man laughed. He shrugged and he laughed and he bent down to pick up the piece and he said, “Not my smoothest move.”

   So I laughed with him. And I didn’t die even with the gunsmith glaring daggers at us both. And I thought ‘This guy’s normal after all.’

   Now he’s gone. Exiled.

   For apparently carrying on about the Vex. Knowing things he shouldn’t know? I thought that’s what Warlocks were about- knowing things.

   Crazy

   Obsessed

   Dangerous

   Osiris

   All said with that same disgust. It’s weird to hear people mutter his name like some dark secret when I still remember that one moment ages before he left, before he was even a Commander. All those years I fought for him and I never imagined it to end like it did. Maybe he was good at pretending to be normal. Maybe it’s impossible to know what normal is anymore.

 

 


	5. ___Zavala ___

 

   Does...and this is going to sound absurd, I'm sure...but does Commander Zavala have a last name?

   Is _Zavala_ the last name?

   Yes, yes, I know. A silly thing to worry about when the forces of Darkness are threatening existence as we know it. But still...

   Maybe the mono-name is a Titan thing. Zavala, Shaxx...oh, but Saladin _Forge_.

   Seriously, does this bother no one else?

   I suppose I could...ask? Just waltz right up and say "Pardon me, my Good Sir, but do you have two names or simply the one. Like the Speaker or the Traveler?"

   Who am I kidding? I'd shrivel up and die if the Commander so much as looked in my direction. Ok, new plan. One hundred glimmer to the first person to uncover the Commander's full name. I'm looking at you, Warlocks. I'll be waiting behind the post office the first of every month until I get answers or the Traveler falls out of the sky.

   _Bring me that name!_

 

 


	6. PSA

 

   Stay off the map.

                              -You Know Who

 

 


	7. Before

 

   Sometimes I think I remember Before.

 

   Before I became a Guardian.

       With no other path in front of me.

 

   Before I was ripped from nothingness.

        When I woke with no lungs to gasp for breath.

              When I had no name, no mentors, and no companions save a little, white shell.

 

   Before I died.

      The first time?

            The last time?

                THE time- the one that should have been permanent but that, by some grace or curse, didn't stick.

 

    Sometimes I think I can remember Before.

 

    A sense of purpose, a place I belonged.

       Faces that have no names and no voices but fill me with longing on sight alone.

             And the world burning.

 

   Then I wake.

        I wake and I remind myself that Exo's do not dream.

             The purpose and the place, the faces and the longing, they cannot be mine.

 

   But the flame.

       The flame I know is real.

             The flame I know is mine.

 

   That is what I know of my Before.

 

 

  


	8. The Legend of the Black Shank

 

>    There is a cave on Venus. Beyond Ishtar's libraries, down the coast where Fallen and Vex constantly wage war for a piece of the planet. It's real easy to find if you know where to look. But I'm not going to tell you where exactly. That'd make this too easy. And finding the Black Shank isn't supposed to be easy.
> 
>    The Black Shank is much like every other one you've ever seen except it doesn't wear the colors of any Fallen house. Because the Black Shank answers to no house. You see, years and years ago, this shank slipped away from its pack. No one knows how. Maybe it malfunctioned and just wandered off. Maybe it started to think for itself, maybe it _chose_ to slink away and hide itself in the dark caves of the coast.
> 
>    I bet you want to know why. Why would a shank abandon its house to loiter around the caves of Venus? Now that...I can tell you.
> 
>     _So that it could grow!_
> 
>    I've told the Legend of the Black Shank many times in my life and right about now I can see the most clever of you shaking your heads at an old Hunter's foolishness.
> 
>    'Grow?' The disbelievers will scoff. 'Shanks are built. They do not grow.'
> 
>    What clever Guardians they are! And yet they're wrong. Because this one, indeed, grows.
> 
>    Let me ask you this: What do you do with the shell of a shank after you've put it down? You might pick it over, grab a part or two if the City's in need. But the rest? That's right. You leave them where they land. How is it then, when you return to the coast beyond the libraries of Ishtar just moments after eliminating a swarm of shanks, that you find no shells. The Fallen are excellent scavengers but even they are not so quick to clean up after a Guardian.
> 
>    No. It is not the Fallen who tidy up. It is the Black Shank.
> 
>    Unseen, the Black Shank glides from it's inky cave to collect the sparking husks of its kind and drags them back into the darkness. There, the Black Shank tears the frames apart piece by piece and adds them to itself! It bolsters its armor and adds another fuel cell, another gun. It _grows._ And with each abandoned shell the Black Shank repaints itself in the oil of its scavanged kind.
> 
>  
> 
>  


	9. Revive Sickness

 

The first time I was revived, I blew chunks.

Shoulda probably warned ya first. Lead up to that a little. Sorry. If yer squeamish.

I mean, there weren't actually chunks. Nothing in my stomach to actually

 

Ok. So my Ghost is glaring at me. Says this is not something other Guardians want to read. But I disagree. This is a public service I'm offering. Letting you guys know that no matter your most embarrassing moment, somebody somewhere's done the same dumb thing. Besides, I already started writing on this page and paper books are supposed to be crazy rare and expensive. Probably shouldn't be doing this in pen.

So back to the thing about

 

 

My Ghost is telling me to keep this as ungraphic as possible.

 

 

So. The first time I was revived, there was an _event_. A sudden, violent, painful, disgusting _event_. Man. My Ghost panicked.

Says he thought I was dying again. Thought he'd done something wrong with that first revive. It's pretty funny how defensive he gets when I tell this story.

Pretty sure it's not his fault though. It still gets me. Every damn time. It's that rubber band tied to your stomach. You get ripped back from wherever you go when you die. I don't know where. That weird blankness. Anyway. The revive. It's like jumping off a cliff to get the best smash but you stop too soon. Like you see the ground and you know it's coming but you think you have time but then you don't and your body can't cope and you just

 

experience an event

 

So keep your chin up and just remember that no matter how bad you embarrass yourself in the field, no matter how humiliated you feel after a round in the Crucible, somewhere out there is a Titan who's killed more Vex and Cabal than there are Guardians in the Tower who still looses his lunch every time he comes back from the dead.

 

Ghost says this is not inspiring.

Shit.

 

 


	10. Gods

 

   If you ever venture into the City proper, you will experience the strange phenomenon of being worshipped. Children will gawk in open awe and tug at their mother's hands to get a closer look. Shopkeepers will drop what they're doing to shake your hand, to thank you for everything you do, to praise your feats factual or perceived.

   Make no mistake, it is not so with every City-dweller.

   Some will foist their hatred upon you. Some will spit their frustrations at your feet. Others will sink silent blades of disdain between your shoulders. Only if you let them, only if you give them that power.

   The majority, however, see those who walk in the Light as gods and treat them as such. Right down to the creation of idols.

   'Action figures' a Hunter once stressed to me. 'Toys.'

   To a layman. But these figures grace homes of those even without children. Carved Guardians no bigger than a hand watch over every home from fireplace mantels and bedside tables. Hand-painted demigods to soothe the frightened minds of those who crave the comfort only brought by the confidence in a diety. So, yes, idols.

   I would lie to say that designation of godhood is wholly undesirable.

 

 


	11. Fistfights

 

 

   Trust me. You have not seen a fistfight until you've seen a Titan fistfight.

   A bar brawl between Titans is definitely something to behold. It comes like a hurricane. An insult falls like the first drop of rain and, the next thing you know, armored blows crack like thunder and the place becomes a whirlwind of marks and fists.

   It's glorious. A perfect storm of strength and endurance.

   The Blustery Brew, the Titan bar in the City, that place is more patch than wall at this point.

   But the best part always comes after the fight when the clouds part and sanity returns and participants help their brothers and sisters off the floor or out of the walls. Everyone buys a couple extra rounds to smooth over any lingering animosity and to help compensate for the damages. It's the most fun you'll have in the city.

 

 

_Titan, you speak of brawls as if they are some glorious display of ability- your skill and might on display. In truth, each time I pass that bar you love so dearly, I see a timebomb. Beings of immense power thinking they fit in among the citizenry, among the exos, Awoken, and humans- fragile creatures easily ended by a glancing blow from those fists you so laud._

_One day your 'fun' will snuff an existence you were meant to protect. Will the City still call us Guardians then?_

_Take your careless delights to the Crucible or, better yet, to Mars were you can make sport with the Cabal-_

_an adversary who will match your physical prowess as well as your mental capacity._

 

 

   The superiority of yet another Warlock immortalized on paper. I wouldn't mind taking you to the Crucible except that your swollen head is an unworthy target for my fists. Go have a tea party with the Vex that your kind seem so stuck on.

 

 

_You could not brush my shields before true power, the power of a Warlock, unravels your body._

  

 

Just kiss already.                                 

                    -Sincerely, Hunters Everywhere

p.s. Quit wasting paper on your egos.

 

 


	12. sentimentality

 

 

Cleaned out some vault space today. Still didn't have the heart to throw out that box of raisins.

 

 

 


	13. Humility

   I lived through the Great Disaster, the Moon Crisis. Though we called it the Lunar Operation before. When we were optimistic. To be known as one of the warriors to take back what belonged to Earth and its people was to be the ultimate commendation. The Vanguard took volunteers, a list of more than a thousand names by the last I’d heard. Mine was there. Volunteer #729. I might have been higher but there were so many of us eager to prove our place in the universe. We fancied ourselves the better of this new breed of undead nightmares to rise during the battle of Burning Lake. We thought, that like the Fallen, the Hive were nothing more than aliens come to poke their misshapen forms into our business. We were certain of our victory, assured in our superiority. I’m certain the Collapse taught us many things, but if humility was one of them, we forgot the lesson the moment we began to rise from the dead.

   Lord Shaxx wanted to wait. His speech at the Consensus meeting circulated among those that had volunteered. We laughed and threw the recordings aside. The Hive had swords? So did the Fallen. We’d beaten them before. 'Ascendance' meant nothing to us. Hunters bet on how many blades they might claim as trophies. Titans itched to test the weapons Shaxx claimed were dangerous far beyond the sharpness of an edge. Not a Warlock enlisted was immune to the pull of a power not yet explained, myself included.

   Guardians went up in fleets. Some of them private craft, some multi-man transports commissioned by the Vanguard. Weapons loaded and friends by our sides, the largest force of Guardians in our history made the journey to the moon. There was even an unofficial sort of campaign anthem that sprang up in rousing chorus in bars and barracks and even over the radiowaves in those final moments before landing.

_To the moon. Be back soon. We’ve gone to win the day._

_A challenge has been issued now the Guardians will play._

_To the moon. Be back soon. The Hive are soon to pay._

_Light is on our side and our Ghosts will guide the way._

   Annoying in its constant repetition among the ranks. But even the most reserved of us had to admit there was a certain charm to the tune. As far as I know, no one wrote a song about what really happened on the moon during the Disaster.

   Transport ships landed and unleashed their Lightweilders upon a seemingly unsuspecting landscape. Guardians transmatted from their private ships with a gleeful pep in their step. I can’t even confirm that a base camp was set. A lot of the details are lost. All I know is that by the time the first wave had marched to the great carved entrances of Hive tunnels, the second wave was en route. By the time the first wave had ceased to respond to radio contact, the second wave had landed and the third wave had long since broken Earth’s orbit.

   I was in that third wave- my own little ship crowded with the addition of my three closest fireteam mates. We warned of our approach to the appointed drop location. The radio spit nothing but static in response. Even then, we shrugged and chalked it up to some kind of interference and went about our descent. We transmatted down the last few meters- that stomach dropping sensation doing nothing to dim our eagerness- while my ship climbed on autopilot to orbit the rocky satellite. We collected ourselves immediately and moved beyond the dropzone in preparation for the Guardians who would come next. Alia hummed the first few bars of that damned catchy tune. Bruno added his voice. Always the most cautious one, Nix-7 adjusted the shotgun across their back and the four of us climbed over the first of many ridges together.

   I wrestled with guilt for a long time after. I should have flown us further beyond the drop point to map out the scene when the strange green cast to the sky made visibility difficult. I should have considered the radio silence before we ever landed. Should have felt afraid as we neared the fray and the sound of gunfire was overshadowed by roars and shrieks beyond anything I’d ever heard on Earth. Should have demanded an immediate evacuation the moment we rose over the final ridge to find a writhing ocean of muddled gray as far as the eye could see.

   It was as if the moon had come alive with slashing claws and gaping maws. Thralls. Just…hundreds and hundreds of jerking creatures- swarms of pale corpses that only broke from the background of the moon when they would throw themselves at a brightly colored Guardian to rip through armor and flesh. Acolytes peppered the high terrain beyond the swell raining down fire. Later, we would be told the Knights alone outnumbered us two to one. It was the first time I’d ever seen an ogre and there were three standing like great pillars amidst the chaos.

   Nix grabbed my arm and I’ll never forget the vice of their grip as they shouted.

_This is suicide!_

  But Bruno was already running down the hill, on track to intercept the nearest Ogre, with lightning crackling from his fists. Alia was right behind her husband with knives drawn even as she ordered him to wait. Nix cried out for them to come back until their synthesizer cracked. There was no winning. Nix and I could see that. A fireteam joined Nix and I on the ridge and experienced the same moment of horrified revelation before they all elected to join the fray. A Hunter clapped me on the back and urged me along before sliding down the hill but I remained. _FOOLS!_ I wanted to scream. A hundred more Guardians would not have made a difference.

   The sky exploded then. We reeled from the brightness and my heart hammered. I had thought maybe the Vanguard had learned of the disaster, had detonated some weapon they were holding in reserve in the face of absolute failure. Or else the rumored Warmind Rasputin had turned his eye to the moon and activated long dead defenses to wipe the Hive in one nuclear sweep. But my senses returned with color and shape and I found the sky was a writhing tapestry of green and gray. Great tentacles of light or smoke that were somehow sickly but brimming with power at the same time. And in the center, a shattererd, spherical crust housing currents of a neon energy I still cannot name and a lightless void at the center- a great malevolent eye. I was frozen in terrified awe. Even as the Knights below bellowed in victory and Nix tore at my arm and begged me to move, it was impossible to look away. _This is what the end looks like,_ I thought. _The end of everything._

   Didn’t learn what the green swirling that would haunt my nightmares meant until many years later. An Oversoul. The first we’d ever seen.

   I never saw Crota myself. I never saw the sword- the Ascendant version of Crota's blade that supposedly severed the Light of every Guardian trapped below the surface as he cut them down in great arcs. But I still remember the sound of his battle cry from the direction of the great well leading into the moon’s center. I remember the thunderous echo of impact below and how the winds whipped on the moon’s surface when there should have been no atmosphere. I remember the sky growing darker and darker. If Nix had not tackled me down the face of the ridge, away from the battle, away from the glare of the Oversoul, and away from the stray beam of an Ogre's wrath, I would have died on that ridge. Along with Alia, and Bruno, and with the hundreds of Guardians below.

   Nobody sings about the Lunar Operation anymore. It’s a miracle there are any of us left to speak of it. Humility, Guardian, should always be your first weapon.

 

 


	14. PSA .2

 

    Seriously. The map. Stay off.

-Yep, Still Watching

 

 


	15. Goodbye

Tomorrow will be our six year anniversary.

Six years since I lost my footing on a rain-slicked outcropping on Venus and literally fell into the lap of a Lady Titan I had no idea was making camp in the rocks just below me. (Over the years, I have teased her about the way she held me in her arms long before I ever asked to hold her hand.) After the shock wore off, she dumped me to the ground and had a rifle in my face faster than I could say ‘ouch.’

I wouldn’t call it love at first sight. She pretty much ran me out of her camp with the threat of that rifle and the crackle of Arc forming around her knuckles. Not to say I wasn’t propelled by my own absolute embarrassment of my very un-Hunterlike blunder. (She claims ousting me was a perfectly reasonable reaction to a strange man raining from the sky and I don’t grudge her caution- in hindsight.)

I stayed on Venus for a few days after and, if I’m being honest, that had less to do with tracking enemy movement as I’d been ordered and far more to do with redeeming myself in the eyes of a Lady Titan I’d barely met. I spent hours thinking up smooth lines I should have used in her presence instead of the horrified squeak I remembered with vivid shame. (I have asked many times to substitute the fearful noise for a smooth pick up line when telling the tale of our meeting to friends and acquaintances but she always insists on the truth. Because she finds that infinitely more amusing, I’m sure.)

Once I’d finished my mission, and finally constructed a suitable line, I backtracked to the spot of her camp but she was long gone. I was forced to resign myself to being ‘some moronic Hunter’ she met on Venus then left the planet with my battered pride in tow.

Two months came and went as usual and I eventually found myself back on Venus with a mission to map the extent of Vex construction. The romantic in me wants to say the Lady Titan never left my mind but two months is a lifetime when you’re being shot at on a daily basis so the only thing I thought on as I touched down was finishing the job and making my way back to Earth as soon as possible.

Ghost was in the middle of scanning an unguarded conflux at the base of winding ruins when I heard the first gunshots overhead. Vex fire lit up the space between ancient stone in retaliation and I remember thinking that whoever was up there had certainly done a stellar job of pissing off the Vex. Which was right about the time I saw a familiar set of Titan armor slipping between gaps in weathered columns. My heart lost a beat when she stopped, cornered at the edge of a steep drop, and a Hobgoblin shot streaked past her shoulder. Her heels sent pebbles into the empty air behind her. My heart lost another beat when the Minotaur rushed her, its invisible shielding dropping just as its heavy arms swung down. Her shotgun barked and what was left of the Minotaur crashed against her. By the time she was stumbling, falling back, I was running.

(This is the part of the story where she begins to laugh but usually threads her hand with mine to encourage me to be brave. Meaning honest about what came next.) I don’t know what was going through my head at the moment. She was in trouble- in the middle of what I knew would be a deadly, or at least horribly maiming, fall. I suppose I thought I was going to swoop in and catch her, spout some suave nonsense, and ride off into the sunset with my pride restored. I did not, in the heat of the moment, consider that –superhuman or not- catching a falling body from a multi-story drop is an act subject to both gravity’s and Murphey’s laws.

I will save you the gruesome details but rest assured that both the Lady Titan and I were forced to wait for our Ghost’s to piece us back together. She rose first and proceeded to drag me away from the battle zone, her hand nearly crushing mine and a slew of muttered curses drifting from her helmet, and only stopped once we’d made it into a relatively safe alcove in Venusian cliffs. After I’d gained some breath, I was eager to introduce myself. Fate seemed to be leading us to something, after all. But in that moment, every cool line I had daydreamed those months ago completely left me and I simply blurted, ‘I’m that moronic Hunter!’

To which she naturally replied, ‘No kidding.’

She left to continue her mission almost immediately after refusing my offer to come along. I knew it was a mistake to even suggest. With her armor, her poise, the heat of her Light

 

Well, I could tell she outclassed me in many ways. Which only made me that much more hopelessly smitten by the time she’d run off toward the ruins again.

It took long weeks of calling in every favor I had to every person I knew in the Tower to learn her name. Even longer to track her down afterward. But imagine my satisfaction when we met for the first time, with both our feet on the ground, and discovered our differences were not nearly as vast as I’d imagined. We had a mutual intolerance for spicy foods, the same fondness for long ship rides, even the same mistrust of Arc grenades. I was painfully in love in the span of hours. She was a bit more willfully practical about the whole thing. My whirlwind romanticism against her rock-solid realism. It took the next year and a half to capture her heart through many successful, far smoother meetings that make for their own satisfying tales. And when I’d accomplished that miracle, I set about capturing her hand in marriage.

She is steadfast against the idea. Claims ceremonies and documented unions are for civilians, not Guardians. I don’t for a second doubt the love that has grown between us but it is true that there are few examples of formal joinings that I can point to within Guardian ranks. Maybe it is old-fashioned to want to call her mine and to equally be hers in a way everyone- not just fellow Guardians- will recognize. But still I ask. Every year, on the anniversary of our first meeting, I ask her to marry me. Every year, her response is the same. She sighs and I can see in her gently rolling eyes- beautiful, reflective violet- she’s remembering the squeaking klutz who fell into her arms, then she smiles a smile she can’t help, and she kisses me. When I see that smile, I’m sure I’ve almost caught her.

But then, like clockwork, she says, ‘No certificate will cause me to worry less when I cannot watch over you. No ceremony can make me love you more.’

Almost like vows, really. Even if they are lovingly contrary.

She left for Venus nearly a year ago- a mission well below her skill and with two other Guardians I trusted. I have not heard from her or her fireteam since.

 

Tomorrow marks the sixth year since our meeting. As soon as I finish here, I will go to Venus and search her last known locations in the hopes that recovery teams have simply overlooked some small sign. Any clue. If that fails, I will wander and wait and pray- with a ring the only thing in my back pocket- and when I find her, I will fall on my knees and I will ask her again.

If I do not find her

 

 

 

My greatest fear is that she has fallen between the cracks of time and space. I don’t know that I’ll be able to come back- knowing what we know about Vex and shifting realities, pocket universes, isolated bubbles of time on loop. I cannot say I will want to come back either- not without her. I know so many will disapprove which is why I’ve not said a word until now. It is a supremely selfish thing I ask. Please, do not follow me. There are other Guardians to protect the City and I will never be of use again until I find her.

I thank my friends for their companionship and understanding and my mentors for their guidance but you all know those things are not the same as finding the other half of my soul. If you’re the praying type, you might ask the Traveler if it has any miracles to spare. Whether it’s together again on Venus or some other time and reality, even if it’s just some afterlife

 

I won’t grudge the method as long as I find her. Wish us well.

 


	16. Security Reminder

 

   Someone forgot to close the ammo box.

   Keep in mind that frames are continuously on the lookout for objects out of place within the Tower and an antique book lying amidst ammunition crates is most eye-catching.

   I only barely intercepted a well-meaning bot before he could deliver the book to Master Ikora. And while we are all positive that at least one of our Vanguards is familiar with our abstract record-keeping, I would advise caution to all lest our precious memories (and other general nonsense) wind up in the hands of a less dutiful interloper or find their way to a less understanding figure of authority. It would be quite the shame for such precious pages to wind up rotting alongside common trash. Wouldn't it?

  Close the box, Guardians, or we shall have to resort to small cloaking devices again. I'm sure many of you remember the frustration of crawling around dusty storage in search of an invisible box. Let us not repeat that small indignity.

 


	17. Boomer Transcript

_The following is transcribed from an old Ghost recording I found while perusing the Tower library's archives. Video was corrupted beyond repair but the audio remained entertaining._

 

PARTIES: Four [4]. One [1] Ghost-type [u.1]. Three [3] Guardian-type; unidentified Titan [u.2]. unidentified Warlock [u.3]. unidentified Hunter [u.4].

ASSOCIATIONS: Luna, Mare Vaporum; Manilius Crater; Subterranean; Early Contact; Hive; Weapons, Arc; Heavy Infantry; Unidentified Celestial Ammunition; Boomer

 

[u.1:0.1] Audial and visual log commencing. Whenever you're ready.

[u.2:0.1] Are you recording again?

[u.1:0.2] Of course. Thorough records are the weapons that remain long after your bodies will have decayed. Isn't that right?

[u.3:0.1] That's right.

[u.4:0.1] Wow. Did your Ghost come like that or are you teaching it to be incredibly morbid?

[u.3:0.2] I'm teaching it to be thorough.

[u.4:0.2] Creepy is what it is.

[u.2:0.2] We don't have time for this. More of those things could be coming.

[u.3:0.3] Which is precisely why we're taking the time to document now. Don't you want the Tower to know of the danger we've found?

[u.4:0.3] I'm with the tank on this one. We didn't come all the way here so you could make little videos to pad your contribution to the library. Just take the gun with you and you can coo over it once we get back to the ship.

[u.3:0.4] We came to gather intel so that's what I'm doing. And do you honestly think I'm going to simply touch a never-before-seen Hive weapon? It could explode in some kind of unauthorized-user-rejecting failsafe, it could unravel my very existence with alien powers we've never experienced, it could-

[small exclamation of pain]

[u.2:0.3] It could be really sharp!

[u.3:0.5] Why would you do such a thing!?! Do my words not penetrate your thick helmet or are they stopped by your even thicker skull?

[u.4:0.4] Wow. You're really bleeding. Give me your hand.

[u.2:0.4] It's just a weapon. A gun made out of...bone and...whatever the hell that stuff is. Ouch! Not so tight. That's my primary fist. The thing shoots Arc energy. Big deal. It packs a punch but no more than our prima ballerina here. OUCH!

[u.4:0.5] Prima ballerina, huh?

[u.3:0.6] You're over-simplifying an exciting new discovery! I can't believe I couldn't find a proper research team for this expedition.

[u.4:0.6] Ah! Now I get it. You just want to be the one to name it.

[beat of silence]

[u.3:0.7] Naturally, as the first to encounter it-

[u.2:0.5] If you name it after yourself, I'm leaving you here.

[u.3:0.8] I wasn't suggesting-

[u.4:0.7] You know it made an awfully big boom. Why don't we call it a-

[u.2:0.6] Boomer. We're calling it a Boomer. All in favor?

[u.4:0.8] Aye!

[u.3:0.9] What? No you can't possibly...that's ridiculous!

[u.2:0.7] Sorry. Two to one. They're called Boomers now.

[inarticulate muttering]

[u.3:1.0] Ghost, end the recording.

[u.1:0.3] It is an accurate-

[u.3:1.1] Ghost!

 

 

 

 


	18. A Observation of Codependence

   Azad Danudas was the first to write about the codependence between Guardians and people of the City- before either of those terms were even common. His earliest works were educational pamphlets- short primers on the nature of Light- and serials portraying acts of Guardian heroism so that civilians would feel more at ease around the Risen that took up protective patrols along the fledgling camp beneath the wounded Traveller. Those not gifted with the Light were understandably wary of any who could wield such power after so many years living under the shadow of Warlords. And for those men, women, and Exos who'd found themselves called back from death and thrust into an often unfamiliar world, it did not hurt to find a population in awe of their abilities- normal people who had the necessary life skills to keep Light-wielders fed, clothed, and armed. During the first years of the City's founding, trust between civilians and Guardians was vital to our survival. In this way, Danudas' writing served the growing City.

   In the same years factions began to emerge as organized entities, Hanna Vasquez revisited the topic of entwined fates. She wrote stirring calls to act- urging each civilian to devote themselves to the war Guardians fought on all fronts- noting that, if Guardians were to falter, it would be the common folk left to the ravages of Fallen scavengers and subjected to still unknown horrors of the recently discovered Hive. Over three hundred articles bear Vasquez's name and message along with her signature warning 'The Traveller sleeps so the Guardians must stand. If we do not stand with them, our fall will be swift.' Vasquez inspired a generation of smiths, techs, and scientists to support the growing Guardian ranks.

   The mutual need is so ingrained that it is seldom highlighted in recent years. Though an argument could be made that the nature of the dependency has changed. Foundries are now well-established and strides are being made in understanding enemy tech (even the Vex). The City is now as proficient in outfitting for war as the Guardians are at waging it. For the first time in centuries, Guardians are not only withstanding the forces that threaten us but actively pushing back those foes. This is partially due to the Titan Zavala's recent appointment as Commander. The rising sense of victory allows the people of the City to diversify beyond the strict militaristic support that defined the workforce for so long and to indulge in more leisurely activities. As a direct result, the City population has been growing steadily in recent months. To those mindful of the bigger picture, the population increase is a welcome relief. People are the ultimate resource. One that was dwindling dangerously. Given that Guardians are unable to reproduce; our history, our culture, our entire existance could wink out without a non-Guardian population. We protect the City but as Guardians rise and fall and new ones rise to take the place of the Lost, the City lives on. In this way, Earth's people will persevere.

 

 


	19. Titan Tipping

The Official Rules to the Unofficial Sport of Titan Tipping

 

\- Anyone may test their strategic mind, strength, and courage in the honorable sport of Titan Tipping. (But Titan points are halved due to innate, freakish strength and it is suggested all participants practice swift escapes before playing.)

\- Tipping is not limited to any location but a third party (not the Tipper or Tippee) must witness the Tip for it to count.

\- The Titan to be Tipped (T3) must be completely unaware of their participation for a Tip to count.

\- Any bystanders who observe a Tip in progress and alert the T3 are dirty snitches.

\- The sport is never to be played with malicious intent. Players understand that engaging in Titan Tipping renders them liable for just retaliation including, but not limited to, Counter Tipping (see advanced rules), Crucible Honor Bouts (see advanced rules), accidental/instinctual murder.

**\- A Tip is to never occur in a situation that directly renders the use of a Ghost necessary afterward.**

\- A single point is awarded per successful Tip. A successful Tip is characterized by: a change in T3’s posture (no less than 45 degrees), a significant change in T3’s altitude, an outright sprawling fall.

\- Force may not be applied to the T3 below the belt line. (i.e. no blows to the back of the knee.)

\- _Tripping_ relies on the T3’s own momentum and, therefore, only counts for half a point.

\- A maximum accumulation of 3 points (allowing no more than 4 attempts) per week is advised to ensure the sport remains low on the Vanguard’s priority list.

\- Higher Command, vendors, and Tower guests are granted permanent immunity. **READ- Lord Shaxx is not to be Tipped! The feat has been accomplished and a repeat performance only invites disaster.**

\- Participants must deny all knowledge of the unofficial sport of Titan Tipping if questioned by any persons of authority.

 

Happy Tipping


	20. PSA- Tower Animals

  

   For the love of Light! Who is feeding the pigeons?!?!?

   It's like a flock of beady-eyed, overstuffed, red pillows congregating around Tower North.

   They don't even scatter anymore when a Guardian jogs past! The little feathered gluttons tilt their heads and coo and then do that aggressive bird walk that freaks me out! I can't visit Miss Lavante without being accosted! And who knows what kind of diseases they carry!

   Please, please, PLEASE, stop feeding them before they get too fat to fly away!

 

 

 

 _So here's the thing. There's a Frame that **loves** to feed the birds. I've only caught him at it a few times but,_ _every time, he shuffles across the courtyard with a little bag in his hands- cupped like it's the most precious thing in the world- and when he gets to the landing, he upends the whole bag. Dumps the entire thing in one move! Then all the birds go crazy- flopping around and making a commotion and the Frame just stands there, surrounded by fat pigeons, and watches them until they've eaten every seed or piece of bread while he whispers 'Good morning'. And it is too. freaking. cute._

 

 

 

    Dang. I guess I can get used to fat pigeons.

 

 

 


	21. A Ghost Named God

 

 

   When I woke in the remnants of North America, there was a voice asking if I could stand. I assured it that I had no idea. On the tail of that thought came my own question.

   'Are you God?'

   I don't know how I knew what a god was or what ancestry or and cultural upbringing might have molded me into the belief that there was a singular deity deserving of a proper noun. But something told me I had been dead, sleeping, in some suspended state, something distinctly 'not aware' and the logical continuation of that process was that God must have restored me. Equally unexplained was the betrayal I suffered when God turned out to be a tiny device of dirty metal and cold, blue light.

   'I am your Ghost,' the peculiarity answered.

   Of course, that capital letter could not be heard. It was a proper noun that would have lead to a far different course of events if I'd been aware of it. As it happened, my mind rebelled against the idea that my ghost, my spirit taken some kind of pseudo-corporeal form, could be contained in a material being while I still possessed a body of my own. I physically recoiled.

   I was aware of concepts- such as gravity- as I rose on unsure legs. Once on my feet, I recognized things. Vertical specimens with sturdy trunks and green, reaching boughs- those were trees. I stood in what I knew was called a clearing. The crumbled structures not far beyond the tree line were buildings. Though who was I to say I'd ever even been inside one. Who was I...at all? On a base level?

   I knew so much about the word but nothing of myself. I had been robbed of a past, an identity. That conviction married with fear and so I worried aloud, 'Am I alone?'

   I had not expected my ghost to answer. Especially with such indignation. " _I'm_ here. I brought you back to life using the Traveler's Light."

   Those were words that I knew but I could tell it wasn't in the context that I understood. Pesky capitals. On paper, I may have caught on to the significance. Perhaps been a bit more prepared for the reality I found myself in. Though I had nothing to compare the reality to. I surmised, instead, that the phrase must have been nonsense conjured by my own brain and that I had never woken at all. That I must surely be in some alternate reality inside my own head. The floating pyramidal device was obviously some kind of God allegory I'd created to raise me from my suspended state and it now housed my spirit. Perfectly logical for a dream.

   In retrospective clarity, the continued conversation was a stilted mess of misinterpreted nouns and hostility born of my almost infantile awareness of the world and my rejection of the situation as anything resembling reality. I firmly believe I would have continued to wander the wilds believing I was locked in some existential dreamscape if it had not been the hunger that gnawed at my stomach by the time a ship showed up to retrieve me. The pilot was a metal man with his ghost on the outside like mine. He seemed very unsure of me- more wary of me than I was of him even with his strange mechanical features- and asked if I was alright. I told him I was hungry and he laughed. He offered me a foil packet if I would climb into his ship and take a seat. And isn't that just the sort of casual sense a brain would suggest in the middle of an otherwise absurd dream? I took the packet and, while I found it cruel my subconscious mind decided to make the contents unsavory, I ate every bite.

   The metal man yammered about many things that I only half heard about a tower and a city before he turned to me from his seat at the controls and nodded to the little, white device who had not retreated more than an arm's length from my body at any time and cheerfully quipped, 'I've never met a Guardian as fresh as you. What do you think of your Ghost?'

   My perfectly illogically logical reply: 'He's very dirty. And I'm not entirely convinced he isn't God.'

   This...the Exo found hilarious. And that...is more or less how my Ghost came to be called God. With a capital G.

 

 


	22. PSA- Duels

 

 

     Paper, Rock, Scissor Duels are officially banned from the Hall of Guardians due to the increasing dramatization associated with the game.

     Congratulations to those Guardians on their way to grounding all of us for the rest of our unnatural lives with their shenanigans.

 

 

 


	23. Orientation Day(s)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *small warning for non-graphic sexual content and thoughts on sexual attraction. better safe than sorry*  
> Happy belated Pride Month!

 

 

Sex certainly wasn’t the first thing on my mind when I sprang back to life. Not the second or the tenth or the hundredth thing. It was months before I rightly remembered sex was even a thing that people do. That, presumably, I used to do. Funny, idn’t it- the way you discover things you already know after you’re Raised?

For me, it was a human woman who jogged my memory. Not the first I’d ever met, by the way. And not a Guardian. Hadn’t even met another one yet. Just some woman in one of the string of settlements I managed to drag myself to. She housed me, fed me, and fretted over my minor injuries even though Ghost was already on it. It was something about her eyes. Or her scent. Or the one-two of her calloused hands and graceful neck. Or her delighted laugh each time Ghost would appear and disappear solely for her amazement. The concept of attraction hit me like a train. I wanted to touch her. To kiss her.

Well, I certainly didn’t act on those impulses! What I recalled about the intricacies of attraction and intimacy didn’t’ begin to answer the questions of what my freshly undead body was capable of…beyond a minor case of arousal anyway. Ghost was less than helpful on the subject. I suppose it was rather unfair to think he knew everything. But that kernel of knowledge- a general idea of what I felt drawn to- was a newfound secret, a little piece of the puzzle that is me.

It was some blur of time later- after I’d rightly joined the fold of Guardians who take their deployment from the Tower, after I’d managed to educate myself on the more private workings of my body (and ascertained that I was not radioactive or poisonous or any of the multitude of concerns I had about mystically being brought back), after I’d thought I knew most all there was to possibly know about myself- that I found myself pleasantly surprised.

He was an Awoken Warlock with broad shoulders and a rounded button of a nose that would be an ideal place to pepper sleepy kisses. Glowing eyes were just as lovely as those of the human women I’d thought had highlighted, underlined, and placed an exclamation point at the end of my sexual preferences. The man laughed across the room at an unheard joke and I felt my heart skip, my breath stutter.

Truly funny how you rediscover yourself the second time around.

 

 

 


	24. Eulogy

_In remembrance on this anniversary_

 

   'We grieve in many ways. 

   Warlocks use Light to paint the names of their Lost into the walls of the libraries so that the knowledge they so value will always be guarded. The soft aura of thousands of names as beautiful as it is somber reminder of a lesson harshly learned.

   Titans hang the marks of fallen brothers and sisters from the Wall so that their watch over the City may continue. So that the sight of fluttering pennants that form a tapestry of honor will inspire and embolden those within.

   Hunters paint thick lines of the deepest red across their armor, the respected Vermilion Stripe, and the living carry the memory of the dead to the place all Hunters truly belong: into the wilds. Adventure unstoppable.

   Death has visited us all. Sometimes we brush Her away. Say 'not quite yet' as we are picked up by our Ghosts. But no Guardian should ever be truly afraid to embrace Her when the time comes. After all, we were Hers before the Traveller. And who knows what may await us? Perhaps yet another grand world to know, guard, and discover. If nothing else is certain, we know we shall be in the excellent company of those who've gone before.

    It is well to grieve, as long as you do not fall into despair. Remember Them but do not forget yourself.

   May the Light of your Loved give you strength as you continue onward. Because while you should not fear death or what lies beyond, we still have a job to do here. Knowledge to be gained, people to be protected, destinations to be unearthed. And, yes, retribution to be had. But not until we are ready, Guardians. Not until we are stronger.'

 

 _*excerpt from Lord Shaxx's mass eulogy in wake of The Lunar Campaign (The Great Disaster_ )

 


	25. History

   You probably don't give it much thought as you pass through the lowest lobby of the Tower on your way to bars and eateries and entertainment centers of the City. Or when you sneak back to your rooms in the wee hours of the morning.

   It's just a chunk of wood with a little bit of paint.

   But that little scrap of wood has history.

   In the early days, when humanity was picking itself from the burning rubble of the Collapse, there was little to no communication. Entire sections of the world cut off from each other. Once mighty countries simply gone. There was no mass broadcast. No radio announcement.  Survivors did not know where the Traveler rested, crippled and quiet but still with us. It was whispers and rumors- hope on the wind- that lead the first vulnerable souls to the camp beneath the Traveler.

   They trudged along, many for years, in pursuit of the only thing they believed capable of saving mankind from total extinction. And even as each desperate, ragtag group inched mile by mile closer, they left markings in the hopes that more survivors would follow with the same goal.

   That little chunk of wood in the lobby isn't some piece of minimalist art! It used to stand proud against harsh winds and pounding rains for decades. Just pointing the way. That splintered, worn board with it's faded and cracked circle of white paint helped as many survivors to the safety of the City as some of the first Risen ever chosen. It isn't framed or extravagantly lit. It doesn't even sit in a protective case. It hangs against the wall for all to see with no forbidding ropes to keep you from walking up and running a hand along the old wood. Nothing to keep you from feeling the City's history firsthand in a softer, kinder way then the engrams you carry back to decode into weapons of war.


	26. The Little Black Book

I didn't mean to.

I wasn't trying to.

It was in my hands.

I was going to write

something

Can't remember what. Something funny that happened at the parade. Or how it felt to walk beside so many other Guardians and to see the pride on their faces. To read the gratitude in the faces of Cityfolk.

It was in my hands when the Tower shook. And it didn't stop. For what felt like forever. The lights blew out. Supplies flew off the shelves. Ghost transmatted us out. To the plaza. When we saw the Traveler and that THING

So many ships

I just stood there. I didn't know what to do. How to

The first pod destroyed the Cryptarch's station. I don't know if anyone was inside. The stall, I mean. There was chaos. Panic. The pod disintegrated? Crumbled? Cabal flooded the plaza. Melting slugs turned the air thick with heat and spread fire everywhere they touched.

I tried to fight. I swear I did. Swear to the Traveler. On the Light of every Guardian I left behind. But I'd barley emptied my hand cannon when a second pod landed. A third and fourth struck and the few of us unlucky enough to be making our stand were hopelessly overwhelmed.

Evacuation was called over broken speakers. We knew it was over. I wanted to stay. I knew there were civilians, contractors, visitors. People without weapons and powers. People who had never seen a Cabal. People who would be slaughtered. But I did not get to choose. My Ghost tore me away. Dropped me at the base of the Wall. Before I could demand to go back, we were incapacitated. Our Light

I don't even know how. It was just gone. Now all I have is a handcannon and this little, black book that I never meant to save.

 

 


	27. The Little Black Book (continued)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dark, traumatic continuation of previous chapter, read with discretion

I suppose I should write. To leave some kind of account. I won't pretend it's going to be of any use. And it's not very fitting as a memorial if I don't make it. But I have the book. I've found another pen. What else have I got to do as I hide from Cabal patrols? While I'm stuck in the ashy kitchen of dead strangers? Power has been unreliable as I slip from each hiding spot to the next. The clocks here all have blank faces. The smoke coming from the Cabal ships- I think it was meant to disorient us- it was so thick at first, I couldn’t track the passage of time. Morning, noon. Who could tell? At some point I squatted between two dumpsters until my legs went numb as the Red Legion set up a checkpoint nearly on top of me. Much later I caught a little bit of sleep in the closet of a smoldering nursery school. I'm not the most reliable timekeeper but I think it’s been about three days since the Tower fell.

It makes me sick to write that.

I should have left the City! Pip, my poor Pip, he tried to tell me it was hopeless. Pip wanted us to head for the mountains. To a rally point that I’d passed a hundred times. He would have convinced me too. I was so damn scared. I still am. I guess I don’t mind saying it now. Not when I’m not sure anyone other than me will ever hold this book again. But when we lost the Light and poor Pip went quiet, all I could think about was getting closer to the Traveler. I thought that whatever had happened, surely it had limits and if there was Light left anywhere in the City, it would be at the base of the Traveler. I didn’t get past the market district. I’ve never been to Mars but I imagine it looks a lot like this. Cabal in every direction.

There are no bullets left. Even after the stash I found inside a bar with a banner for that crucible team hanging over the window. Not one of the good ones. One of the miserable ones with their rabid, small band of fans. Puke-green banner with orange lines. Can’t remember the name of the team. I never kept up much with the team league matches. Ranking Solos are much more exciting. Easier to see all the action. I know I’m rambling. I can’t help it. Pip is always the one to hear me out but I no longer believe he’s listening. He didn’t wake up no matter how close we got to the Traveler. I kept opening my coat and hoping to see that little, blue light but he’s still and silent zipped close to my chest. Should have listened to Pip. Too late for regrets now. Not enough bullets or Light to change things anyway.

I had no choice but to turn around and head back toward the Wall. I’m living some mirror universe nightmare where being inside the Wall means death and safety is on the wrong side of stone. There were so many people during the parade. I wonder where they've all gone. Out. I hope. Beyond the Walls. Haven't seen a living soul for some time. I don’t check the bodies anymore when I pass them in the street. Did my best not to look at the faces of the family in the basement when I checked the chamber of their handgun. No bullets there either. I’m almost glad Pip is asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [visit me on tumblr? :D](https://fox-fic-and-ink.tumblr.com/)


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